To the Sea
by Trilliah
Summary: After sixty years in the Shire, Sam can no longer ignore the call of the sea. Frodo/Sam angst *No slash* Note: This is a repost, I decided the earlier version...well, could use an update, to say the least. *COMPLETE*
1. Departure

Title: To the Sea  
  
Rating: G  
  
Spoilers: none  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own them (*SOB*) never have, never will. Not making any money, and if you sue you'll probably lose more than you gain.  
  
Feedback: Always!! Love it, need it, can't live without it!!  
  
A/n: I had this posted before, but the more I looked at it the more I decided it could definitely be better. I'll also be breaking it down into chapters, and will add them as I get them edited. As for those who reviewed this story previously, I thank you very much, and those reviews have been saved on my computer.  
  
* * *  
  
"Dad?"  
  
Samwise Gamgee started, snapping out of his half-doze to find his daughter Elanor watching him closely, concern written clearly in her aging, though still beautiful, features. He gave her a sheepish smile and picked up his pony's reigns from where he'd let them drop, shaking his head and blinking to rid himself of the last vestiges of the weariness that had overtaken him. He sighed to himself; it seemed that lately all he ever did was sleep.  
  
*Well, Sam Gamgee, you are nearing a hundred and one, now,* a voice in his head reasoned. *It's a small wonder there's little left for you but sleeping, day in and day out.*  
  
Elanor returned the smile, though it was still touched with concern, and said, "We're almost there, Dad."  
  
Sam glanced around, his still-keen hobbit ears straining. Faintly, he realized he could hear the sound of the waves crashing against the shore, and of gulls crying to each other in the air. A salty-sweet breeze caught his thin, curly white hair and lifted it gently from his weathered brow. He breathed deeply, closing his eyes as memory caused a great flood of emotion to course through him. He'd been here before, once.long, long ago.  
  
"Dad?" Elanor asked again, the concern and doubt in her voice clearer this time. "Are you sure you want to do this?"  
  
He raised an eyebrow, his small smile conveying his amusement that she was once again broaching the subject. She caught the look, and straightened somewhat defensively. "I just am not so sure this is a good idea," she began. "After all, you're not in good health as it is, and weeks out at sea." her small shudder conveyed her very hobbit-like fear of the water. "I just don't think you-"  
  
Sam raised one calloused hand, forestalling further argument. "We've been through this already," he said. "Yes, I'm certain I want to do this!" Then his voice softened as he continued: "Don't worry, Ellie, the Elves are wonderful folk; they'll look after me as well as even you could."  
  
Elanor watched him a moment, looking as though she might say more, but after a moment she merely gave him a tight-lipped smile and turned away. Sam sighed. He knew she was opposed to his going; she had been from the start. But there was nothing for it now. He'd made the arrangements with Glorfindel, and with Rosie gone, the desire to leave middle-earth and cross the sea had become too powerful to ignore.  
  
It was time to let go.  
  
They traveled in silence, allowing the ponies to plod along at a leisurely pace. As the sound of the waves grew increasingly louder, Sam found himself leaning forward, eagerly anticipating the first glimpse of gray through the green of the forest. An inexplicable excitement was growing within him, and for the first time in months, he felt truly alive again. Elanor, however, remained silent as they drew near their destination, and if she noticed the change coming over him, she said nothing.  
  
Finally he saw it: shimmering gray, white-capped waves that turned to misty spray as they crashed upon the rocky shore. The salty smell of the ocean was strong now; it surrounded him, filling him up, and seemed to almost lift the weight of the years from him. His stooped back straightened a bit in anticipation as he leaned further over his pony's neck to get a better view. Elanor gave him a sideways glance, and couldn't help but smile-she'd not seen him this happy in quite some time. She sighed sadly. It wasn't easy, letting him go, but she knew in her heart this was what he wanted. How often he'd spoken of it to her; the wish he held deep within him, to someday see his friend and master again.  
  
Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as they rounded the corner and the road left the forest. There it was: the great Sundering Sea, all green and gray and blue stretched out as far as she could see. She couldn't withhold her gasp of wonder; nothing she had seen before could have prepared her for the sea in all it's majesty. When she'd recovered from her initial shock, she noticed the large, beautifully carved ship anchored near the shore, and the tall slim figures hurrying about gracefully as they checked supplies and tested ropes and sails.  
  
One figure, presumably in charge, turned and noticed the two hobbits emerging from the forest. He raised a hand in greeting, and began making his way towards them, his long, graceful strides gliding over the land as though his feet were hardly touching the ground.  
  
An elf.  
  
The sound of a grunt from her father snapped Elanor from her reverie. She turned and saw Sam beginning to dismount his pony. She hurriedly leapt from her own and strode towards him quickly, offering him her arm as he lowered himself gingerly to the ground. He nodded his thanks, wincing as he stepped away from his mount. "Long trip for someone my age," he said. "These old bones don't take so kindly to being in one position for so long." He grinned at his daughter, who managed a small smile in return.  
  
"Ah, but we shall remedy that soon enough," came a voice from behind them. They spun around to find the elf who had waved to them standing now before them, flanked by two others. He smiled at the pair of hobbits before them. "Well met, Samwise Gamgee."  
  
"And you, Glorfindel," Sam replied, returning the smile. Glorfindel bowed slightly, then turned to address the two elves standing behind him, speaking a few words in elvish. They nodded and moved forward, unburdening Sam's pony of the bags it bore and carrying them back towards the ship.  
  
Glorfindel returned his attention to Sam. "The preparations for departure are nearly complete," he said. "We shall set out as soon as you are ready."  
  
He turned his attention then to Elanor, who was gazing up at him in awe, her sensible hobbit-face suddenly filled with childlike wonder. She had never seen an Elf before, though she had heard many tales of them from her father; and now here was one whom she'd heard tell of since her childhood, standing before her like something from a dream.  
  
Sam smiled at her. "Glorfindel, this is Elanor," he said. "Elanor: Glorfindel, of the House of Elrond in Rivendell. I've spoken of him before, if you recall."  
  
Elanor nodded hastily and managed a somewhat clumsy, but very deep curtsy, blushing to the tips of her gracefully pointed ears.  
  
Glorfindel looked amused at her astonishment. "Greetings, Elanor daughter of Samwise!" he said, bowing in his turn. "It is truly an honor."  
  
Elanor's mouth moved, but no words came out; she was still too awe-struck to speak.  
  
Glorfindel laughed merrily, then turned back to Sam.  
  
"I'll see to it that your things are taken to your quarters," he said. Sam bowed his thanks, and Glorfindel turned and strode back towards the ship.  
  
Sam turned back to Elanor, watching her with hidden amusement. She was still staring after Glorfindel, her blue eyes very wide, her mouth slightly agape. Sam put a hand over his own mouth to hide his grin; she must, he realized, look very much as he had himself, many, many years ago, upon his first meeting with the elves.  
  
After a moment, however, Elanor shook herself and turned to meet her father's warm gaze.  
  
"Well, Elanor," he said softly, "this is the end, I'm afraid."  
  
Elanor's lip trembled slightly at this, her eyes filling with tears. He was going. He was really going. Somehow, it hadn't seemed quite real, until now."Oh, Dad," she whispered, then threw her arms around him. Sam returned the embrace, running his gnarled old hand over her long blonde curls. "I never thought you would really go," he heard her whisper, and felt the warm wet of tears on his neck. "I always thought it was just talk; just an old notion that you would never really act upon."  
  
Sam held her tighter for a moment, then pulled away. Smiling softly, he reached up and brushed the tears from her face. "Don't cry, Elanor-lass," he whispered. "You have a very full life here. I know it will hurt at first, but you will heal. You were meant to be whole, and you will be." The words resounded sharply in Sam's memory, bringing up suddenly a vivid picture.but he pushed it aside. Now was not the time for reminiscing...there would be plenty of time for that later. Now was the time for goodbyes..  
  
Then, suddenly, he slapped his forehead. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "I very nearly forgot!" Turning away from his daughter and back towards the pony, he opened the saddlebag and, after a moment of fumbling and muttering, pulled out a very old, very worn red book.  
  
"I want you to have this," he said, turning back to his daughter and holding out the book.  
  
She took it gingerly, as though it were made of some brittle material that would crumble to dust if she wasn't careful. She gazed at the book in amazement, then looked up at her father. "Oh, Dad!" The Red Book had been something of a legend in Bag End; their father would often read to them from it, as they often requested him to do so, but no one was allowed to touch it, and she knew he kept it as close as his dearest treasures.  
  
Her father smiled again. "It's time the book was passed to you," he said. "You must read from it now, and keep it safe; you must keep alive the memory of all that has happened. The book, and the keeping of the tales, is yours now."  
  
Elanor gazed for a moment longer at the book, then looked back up at her father. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.  
  
"Thank you," she whispered.  
  
Sam smiled, cupping her cheek in his rough palm. She reached up and took his hand, and bringing it to her lips, kissed his fingertips once before releasing it.  
  
"Goodbye, Dad," she said softly.  
  
She then turned and quickly mounted her pony. Sam handed her the reins to his own, and she gave him one more quick smile before turning and setting out at a quick trot, disappearing back into the forest. Sam watched her go, a small, sad smile on his face. But he was not worried. Elanor was strong; she would be okay. And besides, he was not leaving much sooner than he would have had to, anyway.  
  
He turned back towards the ship. Glorfindel was walking towards him, smiling gently.  
  
"Well, Samwise Gamgee, are you ready?" he asked.  
  
Sam nodded, slowly at first, then with more conviction. "Yes," he said, almost to himself, "I've been ready for a long time now."  
  
Glorfindel nodded, taking him by the arm. "Then we must be off. It is time." He walked alongside Sam, guiding him, steadying him whenever he stumbled, until they reached the ship. Sam climbed slowly aboard, then turned to look one last time at the shores of Middle Earth. The sight held him, mesmerized, as the Elves unfurled the sails and the ship began to glide silently across the silver-grey waters.  
  
"Goodbye," he whispered softly, feeling a small tug at his heart as his homeland disappeared over the horizon. But as he turned away, he felt a much stronger tug coming from the west.  
  
With the aid of one of the elves who had taken his bags, he slowly made his way to his quarters. Collapsing onto the soft bed that had been prepared with him, he fell quickly into a deep sleep, lulled easily by the steady rocking of the waves and the hopeful whispers of his heart.  
  
* * *  
  
TBC 


	2. Waiting

For the first time since coming to Valinor, Frodo Baggins couldn't sleep.  
  
He lay gazing up at the ceiling of his room, listening half-heartedly to the night silence which wasn't really silence at all, filled with the drone of insects and the rustle of the breeze and the ever-present sound of the waves crashing upon the shore. Usually, the familiar sounds soothed him, carried him into restful and rejuvenating slumber; now, however, they only fueled his unease.  
  
With a sigh he pushed back his blankets and stood, stretching; this was doing him no good, there was no way he could sleep, worked up as he was. Worked up over what, he hadn't a clue. Deciding a walk might be the best course of action to clear his mind, he made his way to the bureau that stood across the room, picking up his elven-cloak and casting it about his shoulders. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror standing over the oak drawers and had to shake his head. Never mind he'd been here-was it sixty years, now?-it never failed to amaze him when he saw his reflection. He was one hundred and thirteen-an amazing thing no matter how one looked at it-and yet he looked not a day over thirty. During the journey across the sea he'd noticed it, though it wasn't until he'd left the rocking of the ship and walked on solid ground again that he realized exactly how *much* he'd changed. And now.now, he was strong, and healthy, and *healed*, enjoying the company of Bilbo and Gandalf and all the elves, as happy as a when he was a mere tweenager, traipsing about the Shire without a care in the world.  
  
*Well, almost as happy.*  
  
With a small sigh he turned from the mirror. It would do no good to dwell on.things he couldn't change. Shoving the thoughts-and images-that had started to rise unbidden to his mind, he hurried across the room and stepped quickly into the moonlit night.  
  
The air was warm, but not uncomfortably so. Taking a deep breath and smiling as the ocean breeze wound it's way into his dark curls, Frodo began to walk, enjoying the feel of the cool green grass under his toes. He soon found himself following the sounds of the ocean, walking until grass turned to sand and he could see the dark waves crashing upon the shore. He walked towards them until the sand began to give under his weight and the waves curled around his feet, then stopped, gazing out at the dark sea and wondering why he'd felt so compelled to come here.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
He jumped, startled from his reverie. Turning quickly, he relaxed when he recognized the tall figure approaching him. "Good evening, Gandalf," he said, smiling at his old friend.  
  
The wizard returned the smile, quirking an eyebrow at Frodo's words. "Evening? Much closer to morning than evening, I'd say," he commented lightly, walking over to stand beside the small figure. "And what may I ask is a hobbit doing out of bed at this hour of the night?"  
  
"Never mind that you're here, too," Frodo pointed out, raising an eyebrow in return.  
  
Gandalf gazed at him, not to be diverted. "What is it, Frodo?" he asked quietly. "You wouldn't come out here for no reason, not at this hour. Something troubles you."  
  
Frodo sighed. Leave it to Gandalf to know when there was something wrong.  
  
"I don't know," he said softly. "I just.I couldn't sleep."  
  
Gandalf looked at him for a moment, then looked out towards the sea. After a few moments of silence, he said, quite casually, "The last elven-ship departs from the havens in a few days."  
  
Frodo looked up at him, wondering if the comment was supposed to be directed at him or if the wizard was talking to himself.  
  
But Gandalf said no more, only stood, silent and brooding, gazing towards the barely distinguishable horizon. Frodo frowned, considering, turning his gaze eastward as well.  
  
*The last ship.*  
  
Suddenly, and quite clearly, he knew what was troubling him. The last ship was coming. The last ship. That meant it was the last chance for.  
  
"You should try and get some rest, Frodo," Gandalf said, interrupting his thoughts. He turned as though to walk away, but before he did, he let one hand rest briefly on Frodo's shoulder. "Don't worry. Everything will turn out fine." Giving Frodo's shoulder a squeeze, he straightened and walked away.  
  
Frodo watched him go, amazed at how he seemed to always know exactly what was on Frodo's mind, often better than the hobbit knew himself.  
  
The last ship.the last chance for Sam to cross the sea.  
  
Frodo bowed his head and closed his eyes, but to no avail; the tears burned hotly beneath his lids. It seemed that happened every time he thought of his friend. His heart tightened almost imperceptibly in his chest; for all these years, he'd been trying to build himself up for disappointment. He simply couldn't bear to let his hopes get up-what if Sam never came? And yet every time a ship came in to port, he'd be there, eagerly-nay, desperately searching for some sign of the dear face that haunted his dreams.but it always to no avail. The years were wearing on, and every time he was left standing alone on the docks, another elven-ship floating empty on the silver waves, his heart and hope crumbled a little bit more.  
  
He closed his eyes and bowed his head, a single tear sliding unnoticed down his cheek.  
  
He supposed he also had to consider the possibility that Sam had already died. If he were still alive, he would be nearly a hundred and one, after all.Frodo had to smile at the thought. Had it really been so long? What did Sam look like, after years under Rosie's care? The image of an old, plump, happy Sam Gamgee entered his mind, and even through his tears Frodo had to laugh.  
  
"What's so funny?" a voice from behind him inquired.  
  
Frodo turned and saw Bilbo approaching him. "Gandalf said you needed some convincing to get back inside and get some rest, so he sent me," the hobbit explained. Then he raised an eyebrow. "Ignoring the fact that I was already asleep, and rather enjoying the rest at that. I'm nearly two hundred years old, after all!"  
  
Frodo laughed again. For all his jest, he knew that Bilbo didn't mind coming out here to speak with him. And if he needed rest, it wasn't because he was old, though it had become a favorite excuse of his. The years had done the same thing to Bilbo as they'd done to Frodo, and returned him to youth and health. Frodo'd had to grow used to this new, young version of his uncle; after all, Bilbo had been ninety-nine when he'd first adopted Frodo.  
  
Bilbo smiled, then grew serious. "So what's troubling you, my boy?"  
  
Frodo sighed, and looked down at his feet. "The last Elven ship is coming soon," he said quietly.  
  
Bilbo was silent for a moment, and Frodo wondered if the other hobbit understood what he meant. But after a moment Bilbo spoke again.  
  
"You're worried about Sam?"  
  
Hearing his friend's name spoken aloud after so many years brought fresh tears to Frodo's eyes. Bilbo stepped closer to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, then sat down, drawing Frodo with him. Pulling the younger hobbit into his arms and resting his head on his shoulder, Bilbo rocked slightly as Frodo cried.  
  
"There, there, Frodo," the older hobbit murmured softly. "Don't take on so. Sam'll come. Don't worry."  
  
"But Bilbo," Frodo sniffed after a moment, "what if he doesn't? What if he forgot about me?" He paused, then, eyes wide with anxiety, he whispered, "What if he already died, Bilbo?"  
  
Bilbo sighed, then pulled away so he could look at his cousin's tear- streaked face. After a moment's consideration, he reached out and placed one hand on Frodo's chest, over his heart.  
  
"What do you feel, here?" he asked quietly. "Do you think he's already died?"  
  
Frodo hesitated, then shook his head slowly.  
  
"Do you honestly think that Samwise Gamgee would ever *forget* you? His master, his best friend, whom he followed to death's doorstep and back again; for whom he gladly risked life and limb on countless occasions?"  
  
Frodo had to smile through his tears. This time he shook his head without hesitation. "No," he whispered, "I suppose not."  
  
Bilbo smiled, then leaned in close and whispered, "And do you honestly think that, after all he did for you, he'd disappoint you now?"  
  
Frodo sighed, tears still streaming down his face, but he was smiling. After a moment he leaned against Bilbo again, resting his head on the older hobbit's shoulder as he gazed out at the crashing waves.  
  
"You know, I never told him how much he meant to me," he whispered after a moment of silence. "He was forever telling me, but.the words didn't come so easily to me as they did to him."  
  
"He knew, Frodo." Bilbo said quietly. "He knew." He reached out and wrapped his arm around Frodo's shoulder, and for a long time they sat like that, staring out over the ocean.  
  
When the moon was high in the sky, Bilbo finally pulled away.  
  
"Well, Frodo, my lad," he said, stretching exaggeratedly, "I really must get back to my bed before sleep takes me where I sit."  
  
Frodo laughed, and nodded. Bilbo raised an eyebrow at him. "You really ought to get some sleep, too, you know," he said.  
  
Frodo nodded again. "I'll be inside in a few minutes, don't worry," he said.  
  
Bilbo nodded, satisfied, and turned to walk away.  
  
Frodo took a breath. "Bilbo?"  
  
The older hobbit turned. "Yes?"  
  
Frodo studied him for a long moment, then gave him a shaky smile. "Thanks," he said softly.  
  
Bilbo smiled back, and nodded once. He then turned and began walking back into the forest towards the elf-settlement.  
  
Frodo stayed on the beach, his arms wrapped around his knees as he gazed out over the water, for several more minutes. Finally, shaking himself out of his reverie, he stood, brushed the sand from his trousers, and walked back towards his room.  
  
When he reached it, he found to his surprise he was quite exhausted. Unclasping his cloak and casting it carelessly across his bureau, he fell face-first onto his bed without even bothering to turn back the covers, and even with all that was on his mind, he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows.  
  
* * * 


	3. Changes

Sam awoke leisurely to the gentle rocking of the sea. He allowed himself to wake slowly, enjoying the sensation of sleep drifting and melting away as his mind surfaced to consciousness. When sleep was gone entirely, he waited a few moments more before opening his eyes.

He was lying on his back, covered in warm, fluffy blankets, dressed in a warm, silken night shirt and soft down trousers. 

*Leave it to the elves to invent a boat that even I can enjoy* he though with a smile.

He stretched luxuriously, then sat up, throwing off his covers and swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

They'd been out at sea for a week now. He'd thought that all the time spent on the rocking boat would have made him weaker than he was, but to his surprise, it was not so. If anything, it was the opposite: every day he woke up feeling stronger, with more energy than he'd had the day before. In fact, he was no longer using his cane; since the third day out it had leaned against the wall in the corner of his room, unneeded. It seemed that some of his old strength was returning, perplexing as that was.

He stood up and walked over to the mirror. For the last three days he'd avoided looking at his reflection, wanting to find out if what he'd seen on the second day of the trip had been only his imagination or not.

The second day he'd awoken on the ship, he'd happened to glance into the mirror, and been shocked to see that some of the wrinkles on his face had faded. He'd stared incredulously at his reflection for several minutes before asking Glorfindel about it, but the elf had merely smiled at him. The next morning he'd looked even younger, and it had seemed that there were some streaks of brown in his white hair. The same happened the day after, and Sam had been certain he was going mad. So he'd resolved not to look in the mirror for a few days, to wait and see if there was a dramatic enough change to discount his theory.

Even without the mirror, though, he'd felt himself changing. It wasn't only that he was more energetic; the aches and pains that had become commonplace in his old joints were vanishing as well. His vision was growing clearer, and his strength was returning, and his voice, once wavering and feeble, was beginning to sound clear and strong as it hadn't for years. For all the world, he felt as though he were reverse-aging. 

He closed his eyes as he reached the mirror and steadied himself on the dresser. After a few long moments and several deep breaths, he opened his eyes again.

What he saw made him reel backwards in shock in spite of his trying to prepare himself. 

His wrinkled face was now far smoother; in fact, he didn't look a day over sixty. His hair was thicker, fuller, and there was definitely brown in it now. Indeed, there was more brown than white. The loose skin that had hung around his neck and jaw-line was disappearing, firming up again. The liver spots that had covered his hands and forehead were completely gone.

"You're losing your mind, Sam Gamgee," he muttered as he stared at the younger version of himself in the mirror.

"Not quite," came a voice from behind him.

He spun around and saw Glorfindel watching him with a small smile on his face.

"Glorfindel…what's happening to me?"

Glorfindel smiled again. "It's hard to say, Samwise," he replied. "You're becoming like us, though, is the short of it. We're heading for Valinor, after all. They aren't called the Undying Lands for nothing."

Sam nodded once, lost in his thoughts. 

Glorfindel watched him a moment, then smiled.

"You're thinking of Frodo?"

Sam looked up, startled at how the elf had seemingly read his mind. "Yes," he said after a moment, turning to look back in the mirror. "I'm wondering if he…if he remembers me." He gave a small shaky smile then looked down at his hands. 

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow. "You don't think he does?"

Sam shrugged, still staring at his hands. "Well, I…I don't know," he stammered. "I mean, after all, it's been nearly sixty years since I last saw him…"

Glorfindel walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

"True friendship doesn't forget," he said quietly. "It doesn't matter how long it's been, or how much you've changed. Or, for that matter, how much he's changed. You both genuinely loved each other. Your hearts won't let you forget that."

Sam looked up and met Glorfindel's gaze through the mirror. "But what if he didn't feel the same way?" he whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of his eyes.

Glorfindel shook his head. "Is that really what you believe?" he asked softly.

Sam looked down again, remembering…and suddenly, the image of Frodo's face filled his mind.

Frodo…at Bilbo's birthday party, encouraging him to ask Rosie to dance, and pushing him into her arms when he started to chicken out…

Frodo…walking with him in Rivendell after the incident on weathertop, listening with a quiet smile as Sam told him about the Elves…

Frodo…telling him he was going to Mordor alone, trying to protect him…

Frodo…Smiling broadly at Sam's wedding, his eyes shining with happiness for his friend…

Sam sighed and looked down. "I guess not," he said. 

Glorfindel squeezed his shoulder once. "Try not to worry, Samwise," he said. "I know Frodo will be waiting for you as eagerly as you await seeing him. Trust me."

Sam looked up and gave the Elf a grateful smile. "Okay," he whispered.

Glorfindel squeezed Sam's shoulder once more then walked back out of the room.

Sam looked at himself in the mirror for another long moment before shaking his head and turning away.

"Well, Samwise," he told himself, "it won't do no good to sit around worrying about it. Best see if there's anything as needs to be done on deck. Maybe you can help out with your newfound youth…"

Laughing at himself, he changed into his clothes and walked out of his cabin.

* * *


	4. Comfort

*          *          *

*Three more days,* Frodo thought for what felt like the fiftieth time.  *Three more days, then you'll know for sure…*

He sighed, putting down his fork, which he'd been using to absently push his food about his plate.  Bilbo glanced up at him from his own meal.  

"You're not going to make the time go by any faster by not eating, you know," he informed Frodo, raising one eyebrow.

Frodo sighed again.  "I know," he said, "but I'm not hungry anyway, so why try to force food down my throat?"

Bilbo laughed.  "Frodo Baggins, turning down food?  You may be the odd sort, my lad, but I've never know you to turn down mushroom casserole." He laughed again.

Frodo gave him a look bordering on hurt.  Bilbo's eyes softened, and he reached out to pat his nephew's hand.  "Come then, Frodo-lad, you know I didn't mean anything by that," he said quietly.  "But I do believe you're getting yourself worked up for no reason. Sam will come!  I know it.  Gandalf knows it.  Everyone knows it, except you, and you knew him better than any of us did!"  he put his fork on his plate.  "I wish you would stop worrying.  Just enjoy the anticipation, and know that in a few days you'll be looking at eternity with your best friend at your side.  Who could ask for more?"

Frodo looked down at his food.  "I know, Bilbo," he whispered.  "I just wish I felt that sure."

Bilbo shook his head and resumed his meal.  After a moment or so of chewing thoughtfully, he pointed at Frodo with his fork.  "If it turns out I'm wrong," he said around a mouthful, "then I'll personally do all your laundry for the rest of eternity.  Deal?"

Frodo had to laugh.  "You're on!" he cried, "And for your sake I hope you're right!"

Bilbo gave him a hooded look.  "I'm always right, Frodo my boy."

"What's this?" came a voice.  "Are my old ears hearing correctly?  Bilbo Baggins, always right?  Has all that's decent in the world come to an end?"

Frodo could hardly control his laughter as Bilbo turned around to glare at Gandalf.  "I was just telling Frodo that I was certain Sam would be on the ship, Gandalf," he said in mock-icy tones.  "But if you'd care to contend with that…?" 

"No, no!" cried Gandalf, raising his hands in self-defense.  "I relent!  Bilbo is wise and all-knowing!"

Frodo raised a hand to wipe away tears of mirth.  "Oh, all *right* then!" he exclaimed exasperatedly, picking up his fork.  "I'm eating, okay?  That make you happy?"

"Ecstatic," Bilbo intoned, taking another bite. 

Frodo shook his head, still chuckling.  He was really very glad to have old Bilbo here, and Gandalf too.  The Elves were wonderful, but it was nice to have some familiar faces.

There was only one more person he'd like to be here with him…

*Three more days,* he told himself again.  *Three more days…*

*          *          * 


	5. Reassurances

*          *          * 

The sunset on the ocean was always beautiful, and somehow, surrounded by all the fair folk, Sam felt no fear of the water.  He gave one last tug to the rope he was checking, then, satisfied, walked up to the bow of the ship, leaning over and peering down into the water.  Sometimes, when the waves were just right, he could see sleek gray forms leaping gracefully from the crystal waters. 'Dolphins,' Glorfindel had called them.  To Sam, they seemed to be an embodiment of joy.  

*Of course*, he thought with a smile, *joy's all I've felt for these past few weeks anyway.*

He had definitely been reverse aging.  He now looked as he had when he was in his early thirties, and felt as vibrant too.  The Elves had been teaching him about rope-making, and that, along with assisting them on deck (as he'd insisted upon doing), had occupied most of his time.  He was also learning the basics of sailing, and was even allowed to help operate the rudder, when the weather was clear.

"For a hobbit who used to be terrified of rivers, this is a pretty big change," he told the dolphin that was swimming lazily alongside the ship.

"That it is!" said Glorfindel, approaching from behind him.  Sam smiled up at him, then turned his face into the wind and closed his eyes as he breathed in the salty ocean air.  

"Another two days should do it," Glorfindel said, studying the horizon.  Sam nodded, feeling the excitement that had been building within him welling over.  

Glorfindel smiled down at him again.  "You no longer have any worries about your friend?"

Sam thought for a moment, then answered slowly.  "I don't think so," he said.  "He never came out and said it, but I think he cared for me nearly as much as I did for him.  I can't imagine he'd have forgotten…" Sam trailed off, remembering the tears in Frodo's eyes as they'd said goodbye at the Havens so long ago…

He'd almost grown accustomed to the tightness in his chest that had been a part of his life since Frodo'd left, but now it returned with a force as strong as it had been that day Frodo had gone.  Sam closed his eyes and realized, with sudden astounding clarity, exactly how much he missed his dearest friend.  How much he'd *always* missed him.  He drew a deep breath and tried to calm his racing pulse, and quite suddenly, two days seemed a veritable eternity.

As if he'd read the hobbit's thoughts, Glorfindel smiled slightly and patted Sam's arm.  "The time will pass," he whispered.  "Don't worry.  We'll be there before you know it."  With that, he turned and disappeared below decks.

Sam watched him go, but did not follow.  Instead, he stayed out long into the night, staring towards the west, and the approaching destiny that awaited him.

"Coming, Mr. Frodo," he whispered.  "Coming."

*          *          *

A/n:  Short!!  J  I know, I know.  But this is how it broke itself up.  I had very little say in it.  Yell at Frodo and Sam, if you want someone to yell at.  ;)  I think the last few chapters are a bit longer—I should have them revised and up again within a few days or so.  Thank you all for all the wonderful reviews! 


	6. Arrival

At long last, the morning of the ship's arrival came.

Frodo stood fidgeting on the long wooden dock, waiting anxiously.  He was not alone; Elves lined the docks and stood on the shore, ready to greet the last of their kind.  On Frodo's right stood Bilbo, on his left stood Gandalf.  As Frodo stood nervously peering over the waters for a glimpse of the ship, he felt Gandalf's hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, Frodo," the wizard said softly, giving the hobbit's trembling shoulder a gentle squeeze.

Despite the words of comfort, Frodo felt a nervous sweat beginning to break out on his brow.  If Sam wasn't on that ship…

At long last it came: a glimmer of silver sails on the horizon, a sleek gray form gliding over the water faster than any normal ship could ever go.  Frodo strained to see the figures on the deck, but the ship was too far away.  With a frustrated sigh he broke away from Gandalf's grip and began to pace nervously.

"Frodo," Bilbo said, sounding slightly exasperated.  "Calm down."

Frodo ignored him, and continued his pacing.  Bilbo sighed, exchanging looks with Gandalf, but they let Frodo alone, knowing there was very little they could do anyway.

Frodo felt he may go mad at any moment.  He had to know, he had to, the waiting was worse than even discovering the worst could be, he was certain of it…Elbereth, he just needed to *know*…

When at last the ship was near enough to make out figures, Frodo's heart jumped to his throat…then slowly sank into the pit of his stomach as he searched in vain for a sign of his friend.

*Oh, no, Eru please, no…* 

The ship slid into the harbor, full of only tall, sleek figures, no smaller form among them whatsoever…

*No…*

As it pulled along side the dock and the elves began to disembark, Frodo had to closed his eyes against the burning of his tears.

"Frodo…" Bilbo whispered, his voice trembling, but couldn't seem to think of anything else to say.

Frodo shook his head then turned and began to walk away.

"Frodo…wait…" Bilbo called hoarsely after him, but Frodo merely shook his head again and broke into a run, tears flying down his face.

*Oh, Sam…* 

He ran, off the dock, past the elves lining the shores, back into the forest; his feet moving as quickly as only a hobbit's can, desperately trying to outrun the pain that threatened to overwhelm and consume him in its icy depths.  He ran until he could run no farther, his breath coming in short, gasping sobs, his heart pounding within his chest as though it meant to break free.  Finally he collapsed, exhausted, sobbing as he curled onto his side on the blanket of soft pine needles.  He felt as if his very soul was being ripped apart and he suspected that was not far from the truth…

*Sam!* 

A sudden coldness gripped his heart, so intense it felt like drowning.  Gasping, he curled in on himself, covering his head with his arms, shaking and sobbing as darkness closed in on his soul.

*          *          *

For the first time since the beginning of the journey, Sam felt sick.

He wasn't sure if it was the tossing of the ocean or merely the anticipation of arriving at last on the shores of Valinor, but he suddenly felt as though his stomach was tying itself into knots.  Excusing himself from the deck, he returned to his quarters and sprawled out on his bed, trying to calm his nausea and racing pulse.

*I'll just rest a bit,* he told himself.  *Just a little while, then I'll go back on deck…*

He didn't know how long he slept, but he was awakened suddenly by a tall slender elf who appeared in his doorway.  

"Samwise!" she cried. "Come see, we've arrived!"

Sam sat up, startled, then jumped out of bed.  He felt a bit bewildered.  Had he fallen asleep?  He'd only meant to lie down long enough for his stomach to settle, but he'd apparently fallen into a deep slumber.  

The elf disappeared again, and Sam hurried after her.  

When he stepped out into the sunlight, he saw they had indeed arrived.  A pearl-white sandy beach spread out before them, and just beyond it the most beautiful pine forest Sam had ever seen.  He could hear the sound of Elves laughing as they were reunited with their friends and family who'd been on Sam's ship, and the sound filled him with joy.

Running out to the front of the ship, he leaned over the rail and peered into the crowds for some sign of Frodo.  The eager smile on his face slowly faded, however, when he saw only elves.

*He forgot me…* 

Sam's grief was so enormous it brought him to his knees.  Head bowed, he closed his eyes against the hot tears that were beginning to trickle down his cheeks.  

Frodo had forgotten him.  Completely.  He hadn't even been there to say hello.  In all his worst fears about this day, Sam had never considered that Frodo wouldn't even be there to *greet* him.  He'd thought his master had cared for him at least enough to *be* there… 

He started as a hand was gently laid on his shoulder.  Looking up, he saw through his tears Glorfindel standing over him, a look of sympathy on his beautiful Elven face.

"Come, Samwise," he said softly, placing a hand under Sam's arm and drawing him to his feet.

"Glorfindel…he didn't come," Sam whispered, his throat tightening as fresh tears filled his eyes.

Glorfindel didn't reply, but suddenly Sam heard someone calling his name.

"Samwise!  Sam!!"

Turning, he saw Bilbo racing onto the ship.  Sam was shocked; Bilbo looked no older than he did himself.  There was a great joy and…relief?…shining from his young face.  

With a shout of laughter, Bilbo threw his arms around Sam.  Perplexed, Sam returned the embrace, thinking of how he'd seen this very scenario played out in his dreams with a different hobbit…

"Oh, Sam, for a moment there I though…!  But no matter.  You've arrived!  Praise Elbereth, you're here!"

He pulled away and laughed once more.  Then he suddenly noticed Sam's tear-streaked face, and his demeanor grew instantly concerned.

"Sam?" he asked.  "What's wrong?"

Sam drew a shaky breath and looked down.  "Nothing, sir…it's just that…well, I thought Frodo would…but I guess he's forgot me." He shrugged and forced a brave smile, still staring down at his feet.  "I guess it's to be expected; it's been nearly sixty years, after all…" 

He trailed off and forced himself to meet Bilbo's eyes.  To his surprise, the older hobbit had a look of such amusement and joy on his face that Sam almost smiled himself.    
  


"Bilbo?  What is it…?"

Bilbo shook his head and burst out laughing.  "Oh, you two think exactly alike!" he cried, shaking his head again.  "*Forgot* you?  Why, if I could tell you how many times I've had to talk to him, and console him, because he was terrified you wouldn't be on this ship…!"

He laughed again.

Sam looked at him, hope beginning to rise in his breast.

"You mean…he hasn't…he hasn't forgotten about me?"

"Of course not, you great foolish hobbit!" Bilbo cried.  "But you weren't on the deck of the ship when it pulled in, and he was certain *you'd* forgotten *him!*"

 As Bilbo laughed and once more pulled Sam into his arms, Sam amazed at the revelation.  Him?  Forgotten Frodo?  The idea was so ludicrous that Sam had to laugh despite the amazed tears running down his cheeks, and he returned Bilbo's embrace with strength borne of relief and joy.

"But…but then where…?" he said after a moment, pulling away to meet Bilbo's gaze.

Bilbo took Sam's arm and drew him off the ship towards the forest.

"He took off when he didn't see you.  Carrying on as though someone had died, he was.  I don't expect he got far.  Come on, we'll split up.  You won't get lost; the Elven settlement stretches for miles.  Someone'll find you, if you can't find your way back."

He then turned and sprinted into the forest, calling Frodo's name.

Sam turned and hurried off in another direction, calling Frodo's name hoarsely through his tears.  He *had* to find him.  He'd waited so long…

*          *          *

Two more chapters to go…!  :)  


	7. Reunion

*          *          *

When Frodo heard Bilbo's voice echoing through the trees, calling his name, he didn't answer, certain the older hobbit was only going to try and console him.  But he was beyond comfort now.  Sam was gone, lost to him forever.  He'd waited for sixty years, all the while hoping and praying for some sign of his friend, for the sight of his face on one of the ships, but all his hopes had been in vain.

*Well,* he thought sardonically, *I guess this means Bilbo's doing my laundry for eternity.*

But somehow, instead of making him smile, the thought only made him feel worse.

He couldn't blame Sam.  Not really.  After all, what had Frodo ever been to him but trouble?  It was because of him that Sam had been dragged into the whole ordeal with the ring, in the process nearly dying more times than Frodo could count.  He'd almost drowned, been nearly beheaded by an orc, been attacked by a gigantic spider, and was practically roasted alive, all trying to protect his master.

*That was it, then,* Frodo thought.  *Duty, and no more.*  Frodo had grown to depend on Sam, and he had become as dear to him as his own life; nay, dearer; but obviously Sam hadn't felt the same way.  Frodo had come to think, to *hope* that he had, but when it came down to it, it had all been for the sake of his *duty.* 

Fresh tears welled from Frodo's eyes, and he began to cry again.  Not the deep, gut wrenching sobs from before, but soft tears, tears of sorrow, of pain and despair.

How was he to face eternity alone?

But before his grief wholly overtook him, he heard another voice calling his name.  

"Frodo!"

The voice was somewhat hoarse, so Frodo didn't recognize it at first.  He sat up and looked about him, trying to discover where the sound had come from.

"Frodo?  Frodo!"

And as Frodo turned, there came from the trees to his right a figure staggering into view.  

Frodo's breath caught in his throat, and for a moment his heart stopped beating.  He sat paralyzed, a cry stuck deep in his chest, and stared.

*Sam.*

Frodo watched as his friend turned, searching, but didn't see Frodo from where he stood.  He was just beginning to move away when the cry in Frodo's chest suddenly tore from his throat.

"Sam!"

Sam spun around, and from across the clearing their eyes met.  Sam's shoulders slumped with relief.  Frodo staggered to his feet and ran towards his friend.

They met halfway through the clearing and collapsed into a desperate embrace.  Arms clung tightly, grasping with the strength that spoke of the years of heartrending separation.  

"Oh, Sam!" Frodo cried into his friend's ear.  "Oh, Sam, you're here--!  I thought…I thought you'd forgotten me!"

"Forgotten you?" came Sam's ragged reply.  "Forgotten *you*?  No, no, never!  Never, Frodo, never, never, never…"

He dissolved once more into tears. 

Frodo clung to him, feeling he couldn't get close enough.  He felt the bitter coating around his heart begin to crack and melt away as Sam held him.  And while the feel of Sam's arms around him was wonderfully familiar, as though not a day had passed since he'd last seen him, Frodo was at the same time ever more aware of how much he'd missed him.  Something within him seemed to crack and spill over, flooding him with the feeling of aching loss he'd grown so accustomed to ignoring, reminding him with each sobbing gasp in his ear or each tightening of the arms about his back how great his loss truly had been.

It was a long time before they were able to pull apart.  When they finally did, Frodo stood back and gazed into Sam's face, marveling at the sight that had filled his dreams for so long.  He reached out and wiped away a tear that was rolling down Sam's cheek, then brushed his hair from his face and tucked a stray curl behind his ear.  Sam smiled at him, reaching out to brush at Frodo's cheek in turn, his lip trembling with emotion.  It was a moment before Frodo could find it within him to speak.

"Oh, Sam…" he whispered, not even knowing where to begin.  Finally he settled on, "I'm so glad to see you, Sam."  

Sam smiled, his eyes shining with tears and love.  "And I'm glad to see you, too, Frodo," he whispered back. 

Then they both burst out laughing at the obviousness of their statements.  "Listen to us!" Sam cried, shaking his head.  "It's been sixty years, and alls we can think to say is 'I'm glad to see you'! As though that weren't plain enough. And yet," he said, growing serious and tilting his head to the side as he contemplated his former master, "I feel almost as if it was only yesterday since I last saw you, if you take my meaning.  Isn't that odd, now?"

Frodo shook his head.  "I don't think it is, Sam, because I feel the same way."  He paused and considered for a moment.  "I suppose it's because that, even while we were apart, we never forgot each other."  He looked at Sam again, realizing how his friend had been ever-present in his mind during the last sixty years, even when he chose to ignore the fact.  There were even times when Frodo could see him so clearly in his memory, felt he could reach out and touch him, if he tried hard enough.  Frodo whispered, almost to himself, "I never let myself forget what you meant to me."

Sam gazed at his friend, wondering if he was going to continue.  After a moment, Frodo seemed to realize Sam was watching him.

"Sam," he said softly, turning to face him and taking Sam's hands in his own, "I don't think I ever told you…exactly how much you *did* mean to me.  I…" he broke off and looked down at their hands, their intertwined fingers, and Sam felt a tear fall onto one of the knuckles of his right hand.  

"I never said all I meant to, Sam, and for that I'd like to apologize.  I was never too good at this sort of thing…" he broke off once more and then laughed.  "I suppose I'm still not," he said, then raised his head and met Sam's gaze once more.  "What I'm trying to say, Sam, is that I…" he paused, his mouth still open, then looked down again, tears filling his eyes. "I love you, Sam," he whispered.  "I don't think I realized just how much until…until you weren't there anymore."  The memory of the long years without his dear friend suddenly overwhelmed Frodo once more, and he began to cry softly.  

Sam didn't say anything right away, but pulled Frodo into his arms again and drew his head down to his shoulder.  Frodo leaned into the embrace, closing his eyes and breathing deeply of Sam's scent as they stood under the swaying evergreens.  

After a moment Sam spoke.  "You may not've said as much, Frodo," he said quietly, "But I knew.  Somewhere in my heart, I always knew."  He drew away and kissed Frodo's forehead.  Frodo bowed his head, hot tears streaming down his face from under his closed lids.  Sam reached out and placed a hand gently under Frodo's quivering chin and raised his head far enough for their eyes to meet once more.  

"And I love you as well," he said quietly.  "I always have."

Frodo smiled, the tears spilling over his cheeks again.  "I know," he whispered.

Sam grinned, and pulled Frodo into his arms once more.  

"Oh, Sam, I've missed you so much," Frodo whispered into his friend's shirt.  Sam's arms around him tightened.

"And I've missed you," he replied.  "And begging your pardon, sir, but you were wrong."

Frodo pulled away just far enough to meet Sam's solemn gaze.  "About what?"

Sam's mouth twitched into a half-smile and he reached up to brush his fingertips over the curve of Frodo's cheek, catching a tear with one gentle finger.

"You told me I could not always be torn in two," he whispered, leaning in close.  "But I have been, Frodo.  Until now."

Frodo's heart clenched and then something burst in him.  "Oh, Sam," he whispered, gazing at his friend for a long moment before pulling him back into his arms, resting Sam's head on his shoulder. "So have I," he whispered, and Sam held him tighter, "but never again, Sam."

And Sam echoed, "No, sir.  Never again."

For a long time they stood locked in a tender embrace.  It was not the desperate embrace of before, but somehow, to Frodo and Sam, it was far dearer.  It was no longer frantic, but rather gentle and patient; it spoke of eternity, and eternity was, indeed, what they now had to look forward to.

Finally they drew apart again once more.

"Come on, Sam," Frodo said, taking his friend's arm and drawing him out of the clearing, back into the forest towards the settlement.  "Let's go say hello.  There are some other people that I'm sure will want to see you."

As they walked away, the setting sun cast it's glow once more through the leaves, leaving a dappled golden pattern on the carpet of grass and leaves that reminded Sam of the golden summers of his youth.  He smiled at the sight.  He knew, as he walked along in companionable silence with Frodo, that he'd come home at last.

*          *          *

a/n:  One more chapter to go!!  :)


	8. Epilogue: Into Eternity

A/n: Sorry this took so long!  I've been blocked on EVERYTHING for about three weeks now, and I just finally started getting over it a little.  Also, much thanks to Kora for helping me work out a few of the kinks in this chapter.   You're the best, hon!  

*          *          *

Late that night, Frodo couldn't sleep.

He lay on his back in his bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other across his chest, gazing at the ceiling and thinking of the past evening with a smile on his face.

He and Sam had entered the settlement, arm in arm, to be greeted by an enthusiastic Bilbo and Gandalf.  After enduring many 'I told you so's from both of them, they'd been led to the great hall, where there was a feast to celebrate the arrival of the last of the elves to the shores of Valinor.  Elrond, Galadriel, and Celeborn had come to greet Sam personally, smiles lighting their beautiful faces.  Sam had stood in awe; Galadriel had looked even more beautiful than he last remembered her.  She asked him with a smile of the shire, and of the mallorn tree he'd planted at the sight of the old party tree.  Though tongue-tied at first, he seemed to loosen up after a moment and spoke avidly of his children, his wife, and his gardens.  Frodo'd watched his face carefully during his entire speech, searching for some sign that Sam was regretting leaving the shire, but despite the obvious love the hobbit still harbored for their home in middle earth, Frodo could detect nothing in his face that could be interpreted as homesickness.

Still, he was troubled.

Later, after they'd eaten and talked and laughed and told stories long into the night, they'd been drawn by the elves away from fire and hearth stumbling and yawning and led into the crystal-clear night.  Sam had been led to his new room by Galadriel herself.  Frodo'd felt reluctant to part with him. And as Sam was led away, stumbling with weariness, Frodo saw him glance over his shoulder with a look of reluctance in his eyes as well.  Frodo'd watched them until they were out of sight, then walked back to his own room, his feet dragging slightly.

That had been over an hour ago, and despite his weariness, he couldn't seem to close his eyes.  Over and over again, he played in his mind the scenes of joy and reunion from the day.  It seemed he couldn't stop from seeing Sam's smiling face in his mind; stop recalling the feeling of safety and comfort in his strong arms…

Frodo shook his head and rolled over in his bed, as though trying to turn his back on his memories.  

*Oh, for heaven's sake,* he chided himself, *it's only for a night.  You'll see him again tomorrow.*

But he was afraid to sleep.  It seemed that everything that had happened today was simply too good to be true, and if he slept it would all vanish into the night like a dream.  He tried to tell himself he was being foolish; Sam was here, and he would still be here in the morning, so he had best just try and get some sleep…

A sudden noise from the doorway made him sit up, startled.  He gazed into the darkness, trying to discern the shadows into sensible objects.

"Frodo?" came a hesitant voice.

Frodo felt his breath catch in his chest as a smile crept slowly onto his face.

"Sam," he whispered in reply, sitting up the rest of the way as his eyes made their final adjustments and he was able to see his friend clearly.

Sam was standing in the doorway of his room, one hand on the doorjamb, dressed in the nightclothes the elves on the ship had given him.  He'd been unable to sleep, tired as he was, and had finally stood and began walking without a clear understanding of where he was going.  He'd ended up here, outside Frodo's room, and at first he'd been sure of himself as he walked up to the doorway; now, however, he merely felt foolish.  What would Frodo think of him?  Here he was feeling a bit uncomfortable in this new place, so the first thing he does is go running to Frodo's room as a child would run to their parents' bed after a nightmare.  

He stepped back and shook his head, feeling himself blush furiously.  "Oh…uh, never mind…" he stammered, beginning to turn to go back to his room.  Tears of humiliation pricked the corners of his eyes, and he ducked his head shamefacedly.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you…"

"Sam, wait!" Frodo called as he saw his friend start to turn away.  Sam turned, and Frodo froze for a moment: the sight of Sam standing there, bathed in the Elvish light of the stars of Valinor, real, *here*, took his breath away.  Then he saw the tears in Sam's eyes, shinning clearly in the moonlight, and his heart went out to him.  Smiling gently, he turned and sat on the side of the bed, then patted the empty space next to him.

Sam approached slowly, shyly, and climbed up next to his friend.  He sat with his hands folded so tightly in his lap the knuckles turned white, his legs drawn carefully away from Frodo's.  He was painfully aware of their proximity; in fact, all he wanted to do was curl up next to his friend and fall asleep with his arms wrapped around him, never to let go…but it was not his place.  

Frodo smiled at Sam's tenseness.  He reached out and placed a hand over Sam's, feeling them relax a little under his touch.  

"Sam…what is it?" he asked quietly.

Sam shrugged slightly, searching for the right words.  He looked embarrassed, and Frodo's smile broadened in the darkness.

"I, uh…I just…I couldn't sleep…" Sam muttered, and Frodo could just imagine the blush that would be spreading up his friend's face.  "I never meant to come here, that's the truth, I just…well, I just sort of followed my feet and they brought me here unwittingly, if you follow me."  He broke off, flustered, and a tear made its way down his face.  "I'm sorry," he whispered again.  "I'll just…I'll just be going now, I'm only being a nuisance to you…" 

Frodo didn't reply, but put an arm around his friend, pulling him down onto the bed next to him.  Sam tensed, but relaxed after a moment.  Without a word, Frodo pulled the blankets around them and settled down into the pillows.  He heard Sam release a shaky sigh from beside him.  Acting on impulse more than anything, Frodo reached out and took Sam's hand in his own.  Sam squeezed his hand in the darkness, and then they were in each other's arms again, holding one another close as the night grew and deepened around them.  

Sam nestled his face in the curve of Frodo's neck, sighing as he wrapped an arm about Frodo's shoulders.  Frodo smiled, and drew his friend closer still.  After a moment, Sam's trembling lessened, and he released a shaky sigh.  Frodo reached out and stroked his hair soothingly, waiting for Sam to speak.  

San clung to Frodo more tightly, closing his eyes as he breathed deeply of Frodo's cherished scent.  After a moment, he said softly, "I…I didn't want to be alone.  It felt…wrong, somehow, if you follow me, sir."  

Frodo let go of the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, his heart filling with sympathy at Sam's words.  Sam seemed to misread noise, however, and pulled back some, raising his gaze to Frodo's as his deep brown eyes began to swim.  "I…I'll leave, though, sir, if…if you …" he bit his lip, unable to continue, but started to push himself out of the bed.  

Frodo grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.  Sam gasped and looked up at him, surprised.  Frodo just shook his head, glaring playfully at his friend.  "When will you learn, Sam," he said, his tone lightly mocking, "that you're not, and have never been, a nuisance to me?"

Sam blushed and looked away, and Frodo grew serious, reaching out to turn Sam's face to him.  He saw there were tears streaming down the hobbit's face, and he felt a great rush of pity swell within him.  He pulled him back into his arms and held him as Sam cried softly, his body shaking with anguish.  Frodo felt the tears welling within his own eyes as he held Sam tighter, wondering what had brought on this sudden bout of emotion.  

Then, suddenly remembering his fear from earlier, Frodo felt his own heart clench painfully in his chest.  *Did Sam regret…?*

Frodo gulped, afraid to hear the answer, but forced himself to ask the question that had been plaguing him since this evening.

"Sam?" His voice to shaky for him to speak any louder than a whisper.  "Do you…are you sorry you came, Sam?"

Sam gasped, his head snapping up, and the look of disbelief on his face made Frodo close his eyes briefly out of relief.  

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, of course not!" he said, and Frodo believed him.  "Not at all, sir, never!"

Frodo smiled, though it was a little shaky, and tilted his head quizzically.

"Then, Sam…what's this all about?" he asked gently, reaching out to brush at Sam's tears with his thumb. 

Sam bit his lip and looked down, unable to meet Frodo's gaze.

"It's just…I…" he broke off for a moment, then continued in a rush: "I've missed you so much, for so long, and I almost forgot how much at times, because I couldn't think on it or I'd have never stopped hurting…And now I'm here, I'm finally here after years of wishing and hoping, and praying that someday I'd see you again, and it…it's just…" he broke off, but when he looked up at Frodo again he was smiling despite his fresh tears.  "I just almost can't believe it, if you follow me," he whispered.  "It's like it's too good to be true, and I didn't want to be alone because I was so afraid…if I went to sleep I'd wake up and find it was all just a dream, do you see?"

"I do," Frodo replied, smiling as he kissed Sam's forehead gently.  "Because I felt the same way."

Sam looked up at him quizzically.  Frodo smiled again and shook his head.  "Oh, Sam.  Don't you know I've been waiting for this day as long as you have?  That despite being here in this place of joy, I've never felt complete without you at my side?"  His lips quirked slightly at the sight of Sam's amazed face.  "Sam, you're my best friend," he whispered.  "You mean more to me than anything in the world, surely you must know that?"

Sam seemed to realize he was gawking at Frodo, and ducked his head a moment before daring to meet Frodo's eyes again, a small smile creeping onto his face.  

"Aye, sir, I suppose I do," he whispered.  "Because I feel the same way."

Frodo's face broke into a grin, and he choked on a joyful sob before pulling Sam back into his arms.  For many long minutes they simply held each other, crying out the years of heartache and separation and reveling in the prospect of the eternity they had before them.  Finally, their tears slowed, and Frodo's hand ceased it's movements through Sam's hair as they began to drift off.  He leaned forward and placed the barest brush of a kiss on Sam's curls before closing his eyes.  Just before he dropped off, he heard Sam murmur, "I love you, sir."

He smiled again in the darkness.  "I love you too, Sam," he whispered.  Then, "Oh, and Sam?"

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"

"Don't call me 'sir.'"

Sam laughed.  "Aye, Frodo," he whispered.  "Goodnight, then."

Frodo smiled as sleep closed over him at last.  "Goodnight."

*          *          *


End file.
